Just Close Your Eyes
by ScaryBones
Summary: "He went to bed thinking about Christophe; his eyes, his accent, but most of all, his bruises." From the day he first met him, Gregory knew that he and Christophe would be friends forever. No matter what. Follows them from five years old to when they're older. Warning: Child abuse, future sexual themes, boy love.
1. Chapter 1

**Greetings, assorted humans. It's been a while...**

** I got all caught up in this show called Metalocalypse (it's such a great show, you should check it out) but it kind made me fall out of the South Park Fandom. The same thing happened two years ago with Harry Potter. It seems like I can only focus on one fandom at a time... HOWEVER! I'm getting back into South Park again, but right now the only characters I feel I can write are Gregory and Christophe, so I'm putting my other story on...haitus. o.o But hopefully I'll get fully back into the fandom soon, and be able to finish the rest of my other stories.**

** Until then, this story has been banging around my head for the past YEAR and I just started writing it the other day. I'm hoping (fingers crossed everybody) that it doesn't take me nearly as long to update as it has before in the past.**

** ALSO I'm not English or anything (I'm American), so if I make Gregory or his parents say something that Englishfolk (? haha) would not usually say, we'll just pretend they've picked it up from living in America. Kay? Kay.**

** P.S. This is for my friend INeedCoffeeArghhh. Check out her stories. I'm seriously, you guys. I WISH I could write as well as her. :)**

** Also, sorry for the outrageously long author's note, you can skip it if you want. Unless you've already read it, then I'm still sorry.**

** So, without further ado, here's the first (and definitely not the last) chapter of Just Close Your Eyes.**

xxx

Gregory first met Christophe two weeks before the blond was to start his first year at Yardale school. He had just gotten home with his mother after a long day of shopping for new school clothes. Gregory had complained all ay that he didn't _want_ to buy new clothes, his old clothes fit just fine, but his mother had insisted.

"That shirt's threatening to pop a button, Gregory; we're getting you new clothes."

Five-year-old Gregory had sighed and contemplated throwing a fit, but decided it would he best to just get the day over with. It wasn't like he could stay home, anyway. His dad was back in London on some sort of company business, and Gregory's mother didn't much like babysitters. Especially not in this redneck town.

They'd gotten way too much clothes in Gregory's opinion, and half of them made him itchy, but his mother said a good washing would take care of that.

It was when he was helping carry in the multiple bags of clothes that he saw a movement in the bush that sat at the end of his front yard. Curious as to whether or not it was an animal, he set down the bag of trousers he was carrying and went to investigate.

The nearer he got to the bush, the more it started shaking. He wondered vaguely if it was the neighbor's cat; his mother had taken a liking to the animal, and it sometimes came over to scratch continuously at the front door. Gregory didn't really care for the beast, whose favorite pastime was clawing Gregory's arms.

He reached out a small hand to clear away a branch and was startled when fingers suddenly gripped his wrist tightly. He let out a little yell and jumped back, ripping his arm away from the bush and staring with wide-eyes.

"Ha!" A boy about Gregory's age crawled out of the bush and started yelling in some language the blond didn't understand. Gregory frowned, inspecting the boy. He had wild brown hair that would drive the Brit's mother crazy if she'd seen it. He had a faint bruise on his cheek, and a dark mark around one of his eyes, which were strikingly green, Gregory thought. After a few seconds of listening to the brunet jabber, he interrupted.

"You shouldn't scare people like that; my mum's aunt died from a heart attack once because someone scared her." He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the other boy, waiting for any sort of reaction.

The other boy furrowed his eyebrows, obviously confused. He opened his mouth to say something again, but Gregory's mother cut him off. "Gregory, don't just leave that bag there, honey. Pick it up and come inside."

He turned toward her and nodded obediently. "Coming, mum." He turned back to say goodbye to the strange boy - but he had gone. He took a few seconds to scan the bush before shrugging and running off toward his mother.

xxx

He saw the boy again two days later. He had almost forgotten about him, preoccupied with his own busy schedule of playing and school-shopping with his mother. He had just gotten back from buying a new set of crayons and was drawing at his desk up in his room when he glanced out his window and saw the dark-haired boy attempting to catch the neighbor cat in his front lawn. After a few minutes of watching many failed attempts, Gregory sighed and climbed down from his desk, moving to the window and leaning out of it. "You have to wait for the cat to come to you," he called, smiling in amusement when the boy jumped and glared up at him, startled. "She'll scratch if she doesn't know you." As if on cue, the cat started hissing, arching her back.

The boy glared up at him and raised his palms, signalling to Gregory that he had no idea what he was talking about. The blond sighed and stepped away from the window, figuring he should help the poor kid before he got hurt. He walked down stairs and opened the front door, half expecting for the kid to be gone, but to his surprise, the boy was still there, hissing back at the cat.

"No, no, no, don't do that." The brunet frowned, seeming to actually understand that sentence. He gave Gregory a withering look before glancing back at the cat, who had calmed down slightly upon Gregory's arrival. "Just sit down and hold out your hand...like this." Gregory demonstrated the instruction, and the cat hesitated a second before coming up and nuzzling his arm. "You have to be careful, though. She'll sometimes scratch for no reason at all. I'll never understand cats...Now you try." He motioned for the boy to sit down and, after an unsure glare at the blond, he did. "Hold out your hand." Gregory tapped his own with a finger, and held it out for the cat again.

The brunet nodded slowly and followed the instruction. The cat tensed for a second, and Gregory bit his lip in worried anticipation. But then the feline carefully sniffed the other's hand and seemed to decide that he was alright, rubbing her head against the dirty fingers and purring a little. The boy smiled in triumph.

"You did it!" Gregory grinned. Then, remembering his manners: "I'm Gregory, by the way. Pleased to meet you." He held out his hand for the other to shake but was met with a blank stare. "Dad says it's important to shake hands when you meet someone new. It shows good...character, I think." He thrust his arm forward again, frowning when the other did nothing to reciprocate the act. "Well." He let his arm drop into his lap, sighing out of his nose. "So what's your name?"

The boy seemed to perk up at this, and furrowed his brows again, as if trying to remembering something. "Name?" he asked, and Gregory almost cried out in joy. At least the kid understood a little English.

"Yes, your name," the blond repeated, slowly pronouncing each word. "What is your name? _My_ name is Gregory."

"Mon..._my_ name..."

"Good so far. My. Name. Is..."

"My name eez Christophe."

"Christophe? That's a funny name. But very good, Christophe!" Gregory clapped his hands, scaring the neighbor cat, who hissed and ran off across the street. The blond smiled proudly at Christophe, feeling accomplished. "Hey, why don't you speak English anyway? Where're you from?"

The look of confusion on Christophe's face was enough for Gregory to change the subject. He noticed the yellowing bruises from the other day and frowned.

"Where'd you get those bruises from? It's quite odd you'd get them on your face. I don't think I've ever had a bruise on my face."

Christophe's frown deepened and he turned away, shrugging and muttering something in that strange language again.

"Do you understand me?" Gregory asked, reverting back to speaking slowly. Christophe replied with a scowl and more angry muttering, which Gregory took as a 'no'. The Brit sighed and rested his head in his right hand. "Welp, you're a lost cause, then." He shrugged with his other shoulder. "That's what Mum says when I can't tie my shoes. It means you're hard to teach. But I know I can tie my shoes, if only she'd teach me a different way." Christophe sat there, listening but not understanding, looking as if he was trying to decipher a secret code. Gregory shouted as an idea suddenly came to him. "Hey, I've got an idea!" He grabbed Christophe's wrist and the boy flinched, ripping his arm away and looking offended as he held it against his chest.

"Non!" the boy shouted, and Gregory understood perfectly well what that meant. He gave Christophe a leery look, but then remembered what his mother was always saying about personal space.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Christophe. I'm still trying to keep my hands to myself." He put his hands behind his back to prove this, and the brunet relaxed a bit. "Anyway, what I was about to say was...what if I taught you English? Hmm? Would you like to learn English?"

Christophe opened his mouth to say something, then closed it, looking unsure.

Gregory thought for a bit before pointing to his own mouth. "Speak. English." He pointed to Christophe. "Do you want to learn?"

A look of understanding washed over the dirty face, and the green eyes brightened up. Christophe nodded and said something again in his foreign tongue. It sounded like he was saying, "wee", which Gregory figured meant he was excited to learn.

The blond grinned and began to plan what he should first teach Christophe when suddenly what reminded him of a cat's yowl sounded across the yard. Gregory jumped and glanced around for the source of the noise, surprised when he found it not to be a feline, but a woman. She had the same fierce green eyes as the boy sitting beside him, and the same scowl set upon her face. "_Christophe_!" she hissed, storming over and pulling him up, pointing her finger in his face and chastising him in that soft language Gregory had started taking a liking to. He watched as Christophe bowed his head submissively and muttered what Gregory was sure was an apology. His mother shook her head and gave Gregory a quick look-over before muttering something and tugging Christophe down the street. Gregory watched them until they entered a house four houses down on the other side of the street. He saved that information and retreated back into his house.

That night at dinner, Gregory chattered animatedly about Christophe to his mother, who seemed happy and somewhat relieved at the prospect of him making a friend. Gregory didn't really play outside with the other children - they made fun of him for the way he talked. He had always mostly kept to himself, venturing only as far as the end of the front lawn when he played outside.

"He doesn't speak English, though," Gregory explained after finishing a mouthful of peas. "He speaks some weird, pretty language. Maybe he could come over and speak it to you. You'd like it. Or maybe he could teach it to me...I promised I'd teach him English, but then his mum came and dragged him away. She seemed really angry for some reason."

His mother hummed and shrugged. "Well, I think it's great you've made a friend, dear."

"Me, too. I think we'll be best friends." Gregory beamed. He whispered the words under his breath again and nodded.

Later, while brushing his teeth, he began planning out what he'd teach Christophe. Gregory himself had just learned most of the colors, so maybe that'd be a great place to start. And maybe Christophe could teach him a few, as well. After his mother read him a story and tucked him into bed, he whispered Christophe's name and tried to speak in that quiet language, making up words that sounded pretty to his ears before drifting off.

xxx

He didn't see Christophe the next day. He spent the morning playing with his trucks out on the front step, glancing down the street every couple minutes to see if his new friend was coming. He reluctant to go inside when his mother called him for lunch, and ate his tuna sandwich so fast he got a severe case of the hiccups. He stayed outside for another hour after eating, waiting, before giving up and going back inside.

He stayed by the window in his room, drawing things that were different colors. He would show these to Christophe to help him learn. On one page he drew red things: an apple, a fire truck, and a cup. On another he drew a purple dinosaur and some grapes. His favorite color was orange, so the page dedicated to that color had a bunch of items squished together. He wondered what Christophe's favorite color was. He had seen him wearing a green shirt both times he'd met him, and figured that must be it. He stroked a green crayon along a new sheet of paper, filling it just as much as he had with the orange. He couldn't name very many items that had that hue, so the page was mostly grass and trees.

Gregory spent the rest of the afternoon outside on the front lawn, trying to gather enough courage to cross the street and walk the four houses down to the boy's house. But Christophe's mother frightened him. She didn't seem like a very nice lady, and besides, she was a stranger, and Gregory wasn't allowed to talk to strangers, let alone knock on their doors. But _Christophe_ wasn't a stranger. He was his friend, just as his mother had said. But still, crossing the street was dangerous, and he didn't want that lady to yell at him like she had with Christophe.

He went back inside when the sun went down, sighing and moping through his dinner, while his mother reassured him he'd see his friend the next day. He went to sleep feeling only slightly comforted, and decided that he'd go to Christophe's house tomorrow for sure.

xxx

He didn't need to go to Christophe's house the next day; when he woke up, the brunet was sitting outside on the front lawn, stroking the cat absently. Gregory smiled and quickly got dressed before running downstairs. His mother greeted him with a kiss on the cheek. "Morning, honey. You're up early; I haven't even made breakfast yet."

"That's alright, Mum, I'm going to play outside for a bit." He rushed out the door without waiting for an answer and skipped over to Christophe.

"Good morning, Christophe!" he said loudly, making the other boy start. The cat lifted her head and twitched one of her ears, giving Gregory a blank look. "Good morning, Cat." He plopped down next to the boy and flashed his baby teeth at him. "How are you today, Chris-" He stopped as he noticed a dark purple mark just above the fading bruise he'd seen when he first met the boy "Christophe, where'd you get _that_?" He pointed his finger at the mark and the brunet scowled and turned red.

He growled something Gregory couldn't catch and slapped the Brit's hand away. The blond gasped in pain and drew his hand back, outrages and shocked that his friend would do such a thing.

"Hey, don't hit! Hitting people is naughty, Christophe. Didn't your mum teach you to keep your hands to yourself?" Gregory snarled and shook his head, rubbing his arm. His anger melted away when he remembered why he had been so excited to see the other boy. "Hey, Christophe, are you ready to learn English?"

The bruised boy perked up at Gregory's words and he nodded, seeming to forget he was upset with the blond. He said the word that sounded like "wee" again, and Gregory smiled.

"Alright, stay right here, I've got to get something from my room. Stay." He pointed at Christophe and hoped he understood as much. He dashed back inside, past his mother who was cooking breakfast, and up to his room. He dug the papers he'd worked on yesterday and took the steps back down two at a time. "Please dont be gone, please don't be gone." He pushed the front door open again and beamed when he saw both Christophe and the cat had stayed. "Very good."

He sat next to Christophe again, their knees touching, and held up the paper covered in apples and firetrucks. The brunet's eyes opened wide and he gingerly took the paper from Gregory, holding it in his lap and studying it. He ran his fingers over the lines, smearing them a little, and Gregory decided he would forgive him for that. The look of wonder in Christophe's eyes was amazing and strange to see, like he'd never seen a drawing before in his life.

"That color is red." Gregory pointed to the smeared mark. "Red." To the apple. "Red." To the fire truck. "Red. And the shirt's also red."

"Red," Christophe whispered under his breath. Gregory gave him a delighted look and Christophe smiled back, showing his baby teeth at the blond.

"Good job, now I'll show you green." They worked like this for an hour, Gregory showing Christophe colors and saying them multiple times until Christophe had mastered them. He still had trouble saying 'purple', but that had always been hard for Gregory, too.

Soon Christophe glanced down at a watch he was wearing - Gregory hadn't noticed it before - and stood up. He waved goodbye to the blond and started walking home.

"Wait! Why're you going?" Gregory chased his friend, stopping him before he crossed the street. Christophe scowled and pulled away from him, his eyes softening as he pointed to his watch. Gregory didn't know how to tell time, but remembered the times when his mother had told him that dinner would be ready when the little hand was at six and the long hand was at twelve. On Christophe's watch, the little hand was at three, and the big hand was at five. "You have to go home now?"

Christophe shrugged, not understanding.

"Oh, well then, goodbye." He patted the brunet on the shoulder gently so he wouldn't scare him, and smiled. "Come over tomorrow, okay?"

Christophe thought for a moment and then nodded. "Okay." He patted Gregory's hand and turned to walk home. The blond grinned and skipped back into his own house, taking his papers with him and stashing them neatly in his desk drawer.

He chatted more with his mother about Christophe, and with his father when he called from London. That night he went to bed feeling happier than he'd felt in a long time. Knowing that he had a friend, that he was helping someone, made him feel like his life had meaning. Before he fell asleep, he had a small, worried thought about the bruise he'd seen on the boy, but before he could fully think about it, he drifted off to sleep.

xxx

With just a week left until he started school, Gregory started cramming in English lessons with Christophe whenever he could. All day until Christophe had to go home he would show the brunet more colors, name simple items like trees, the sun, leaves, and started teaching him greetings. Christophe was an exceptionally good student, Gregory thought. He kept still, his eyes always on Gregory, and would only speak when Gregory asked him to repeat a word or sentence. And he was learning fast. They were already having short conversations, and Christophe seemed to understand much more of what the blond was saying, though he himself had trouble speaking. Gregory had finally found out what Christophe's native tongue was: French. When he told his mother this fact, she lit up and said something about vacationing in France once. "It _is_ a beautiful language, darling." And she sang him French songs that were nice, but nowhere near as beautiful as when Christophe would mutter the language under his breath when he had to go home.

Gregory was pleased with Christophe's progress, but was becoming increasingly worried about the marks that seemed to keep appearing on him. The day before Gregory was to go to school, Christophe came out of his house late, wiping his eyes. He had a bright red handprint on the left side of his face, which was quickly darkening.

"What happened, Christophe?" he asked, watching with concern as the other plopped down next to him sorely.

"I am fine," he spat, the words slurred by his accent and his anger.

"But...but your face." Gregory reached forward to stroke the bruise, but Christophe swatted his hand away and snarled.

"Non!" The French boy stared daggers at the Brit, signaling for him to change the subject. There was a long pause before Christophe sighed and relaxed, leaning back on his hands and nodding slowly at Gregory. "I am fine. Sorry."

"It's okay..." And he went on as usual, giving Christophe a piece of paper and pulling crayons out of his pocket. He'd name some of the items he'd been teaching the boy that week, and Christophe would grab the crayons with his dirty fingers and draw the object said, repeating it after Gregory each time.

When the sun started to get low in the sky, Christophe looked at his watch and muttered in French. Then he sighed and met Gregory's eyes. "I must go. Goodbye, Gregory. See you tomorrow." Just as Gregory had taught him to say.

"Wait, Christophe. I have school tomorrow." The Brit bit his lip. He'd been putting it off all day: The fact that he wouldn't be able to spend as much time with the boy anymore. Christophe frowned, confused. Gregory repeated himself. "School. Do you know what that means? I won't be here tomorrow." He shook his head and pointed to their spot. "I have to go to school. Do you understand?"

Christophe gave him a long, withering look before bidding him goodbye again and crossing the street. Gregory hoped he understood that he wouldn't be able to teach Christophe until later in the afternoon.

But then he remembered. "Oh, of course! _He_ must be going to school tomorrow as well! Maybe that's why he gave me that look." He smiled and wondered if Christophe would be going to the same school as him. His mother said that there was a public school in town, which was where all the other kids went. But she didn't want him going there, it wasn't challenging enough, and there had been bad reviews for the teachers. So she enrolled him in Yardale, a private school that was about forty-five minutes away, but had _very_ good reviews.

"Do you think Christophe will go to school there with me?" he asked that night after dinner. His mother sighed.

"I don't think so, sweetheart. His family...well, they don't seem like the type to want to spend that much money on education." She turned and started washing the dishes.

"What does that mean?" Gregory tugged at her skirt, looking up with a suspicious glance.

"I just think he's more likely to go to the public elementary, dear. But who knows? He might end up at Yardale after all." She shrugged and patted the top of his head. "Go take a bath, Gregory. You're a lot filthier now you've started playing outside all day."

He giggled and nodded, hugging her around the waist before trodding up to the bathroom to bathe. He went to bed thinking about Christophe; his eyes, his accent, but most of al, his bruises. They seemed too frequent to be accidents, but then again, Gregory didn't know what Christophe did at home. Maybe he jumped off the couch a lot. Gregory had once cracked his open on the coffee table doing that, so it wasn't so far-fetched. But still, those dark marks made Gregory's stomach tighten every time he saw them, and he was determined to figure out their cause.


	2. Chapter 2

**What's this? Could it be...another chapter? Updated within a reasonable amount of time? OH IT IS?!**

**Thanks for the reviews and favs and follows, guys. They mean a lot.**

Gregory's hand gripped his mother's tightly as she led him up to the front doors of the building named Yardale. It towered over him, all old brick with small windows, and he experienced vertigo just standing there. There were other kids running across the huge lawn in front of the school, laughing and shoving one another. Some girls were playing hopscotch on the cement, while older ones pointed to boys and giggled. He panicked.

"I want to go home." Gregory looked pleadingly up to his mother, jutting out his bottom lip and giving her the puppy dog eyes. She smiled down at him like mothers do when they think their child having a nervous breakdown is cute.

"Sweetie, you haven't even been inside the building. Don't you want to meet your teacher?"

Gregory deflated. Meeting his teacher was the one thing he was looking forward to the most. Maybe he would go in really quick and see what _kind_ of teacher he was to have. If he didn't like her, he'd leave. No strings attached. "Well, alright, I guess."

His mother smiled down at him, relieved, and lead him through the mammoth doors and into the dep caverns of Yardale. They walked to a desk where many other parents were standing with their children, chattering all at once to the woman seated at the desk. Gregory's mother pursed her lips before grabbing a school map from a brochure holder and giving Gregory an amused look. "Looks like we'll find your classroom ourselves."

What a mistake that was. Thirty minutes later and they were in some great hallway that seemed to have no end. "Mum, my legs are sore."

"Not now, dear. I've got to find someone who can make sense of this stupid- Excuse me, Miss?" She dragged Gregory toward a teacher standing outside her door. "Can you help me find this classroom, please?"

The teacher smiled and gave Gregory an amused glance before taking the map and Gregory's information and studying it. "Oh, it's right down the hall, last door before you turn right."

"Thank you so much; this place is a maze!" Gregory's mother rubbed the back of her son's neck comfortingly as they neared the classroom. There was no teacher standing outside, just a bunch of nervous-looking five-year-olds. Some of them were crying, and Gregory gave his mother a distrusting look. "Oh, you'll be fine, dear. Go stand with the other children and I'll be right here when school's over, okay?" She gave Gregory a tight hug, making his ears turn pink.

"Mum, stop, you're embarrassing me," he hissed, pushing away from her. She smiled and wiped tears from the corners of her eyes.

"I'm sorry, I just can't believe my baby's going to be gone all day."

"I'll be _fine_, Mum, and I've been gone longer before." Anything to get her to go away. Some of the older children standing around were starting to laugh at his mother's antics.

She gave him one last motherly hug and nudged him toward the other kids. "Bye, Gregory. Have a great day at school."

He waved back, suddenly missing her, and wished he'd hugged her longer. However, there were now more important matters to attend to. He walked slowly to the back of the line of students, looking at each one to see if they were Christophe. When he got to the end, he sighed and slid down the wall opening his backpack and taking out a picture Christophe had drawn. He ran his fingers over the purple scribble and smiled. It was a picture of one of the harder words he'd taught him - a mountain. He had laughed the first time the French boy had attempted to pronounced it. Not to make fun of him, of course, but Christophe had certainly taken it that way, blushing and scowling wickedly. He threw the crayon he was holding and refused to repeat that word. Shocked by how harshly his friend was reacting, Gregory immediately moved onto the next word, telling himself he'd never laugh at the boy's accent again.

Now he glanced down at the paper with a frown, momentarily forgetting that Christophe might be at school now, wondering instead if the brunet was waiting for him on the front lawn, waiting to be taught more words. A part of Gregory hoped he was, that he came despite Gregory telling him not to, maybe hoping that the blond would be there after all. But the other part of him didn't want Christophe to wait for him all day and end up disappointed. What if he thought Gregory didn't want to teach him anymore?

Gregory was shaken out of his thoughts by a sudden hush sweeping over the children next to him. He carefully stuffed the paper back into his backpack and stood up, glancing at the other children to see why they had grown so quiet. It was then he noticed a very tall woman - taller than his mother, even - opening the door to the classroom. She had bright red hair that Gregory'd never seen on anyone before, and a large face, like a full moon. Her lips were a straight line, making it hard for Gregory to tell if she was mean or not.

"Alright, kindergarteners, eyes forward." She turned her face toward them and smiled like a mother would, and the blond immediately relaxed. She was nice, he could tell already. "Welcome to your first day of school. As you walk into our classroom, I want you to tell me your name so I can put a sticker on you. That way we'll know who's who."

immediately the children started entering the classroom, stopping when they met the teacher and beaming when she placed a name tag onto their shirts. Gregory looked down at his once he got it, and smiled when he recognized it as his name. Once everyone was inside, the teacher told them to read the words on their stickers and to sit at the desk that had the same thing written on _its_ sticker.

Gregory found his rather quickly, pushing his backpack under the desk and putting his chin in his hands, watching the other children walk around in confusion until the teacher situated everyone in their spots. Then she turned to the board and the school day began. They spent thirty minutes learning something called The Pledge of Allegiance, reciting it to a flag in the corner of the room. After that the teacher taught them a song about the colors of a rainbow, which Gregory sung proudly, thinking the whole time what a wonderful song it would be to teach Christophe. After that the teacher led them outside for recess, teaching them how to play Duck, Duck, Goose. Gregory never got picked to be Goose, much to his disappointment, but the game was still fun.

They went back inside after that and sang more songs, like the Alphabet, the Days of the Week, and the Months of the Year. Lunch was after that, and Gregory saved the cookie he was given to take home for Christophe as an apology for not being able to be there. He played on the swings at recess, chased some of the other little boys, and held one end of a jump rope for the girls. The real work began when they came back into the classroom after lunch recess. The teacher, who Gregory named Ms. Moonface but didn't call her that, handed out sheets of paper with lines on them and told the class they would be learning how to write their names. While Gregory was good at recognizing his name, writing it was a different story. He had a lot of trouble with his e's, and r's weren't much better. Twice he made the second g in his name upside down and had to start over.

Finally he was writing it correctly, and the teacher came by and stuck a gold star on his paper. "Good job, Gregory. You can write your name." He blushed and smiled politely at her, staring at the star in awe when she went to help a girl with her Q. After a while the teacher said to put their papers in their cubbies, which she had shown them that morning, and to join her on the carpet, where she read them a story.

And just like that, school was over. Gregory's mother met him outside the classroom, and he ran up and hugged her tightly around her legs. "I had so much fun at school today, mum!"

"I knew you would, honey." He chatted about his day on the walk back to the car and the ride home. As they turned down their street, he remembered Christophe.

"Did my friend come over, mum? Was Christophe waiting for me all day?" He checked in his backpack to make sure the cookie wasn't crumbled.

"Mmm, no, I didn't see him all day. I suspect he was in school." They pulled into their driveway and Gregory scanned the yard for any sign that his friend had been there. Nothing. Glumly, he went inside up to his room and set the cookie on his desk. He pulled out the paper with his names and the sticker on it, and pinned it to the bulletin board his father had gotten him as a gift. His mother knocked on his door a moment later and walked inside. "Why don't we go down and see if Christophe can come over for a bit?"

And just like that, Gregory's mood lifted. "Yes, let's go!" He'd never been to Christophe's house (not being allowed to cross the street by himself) and Christophe had always declined when Gregory invited him inside.

He beat his mother down the stairs, taking the steps two at a time and skipping the last three. He shoved open the front door and skipped to the sidewalk, yelling at this mother to hurry up. "Hold _on_, Gregory! We'll get there before tomorrow." She eventually reached him and took his hand as they crossed the street, though Gregory saw no reason why he should have to hold her hand. He was five years old now, and Christophe crossed the street all the time, even if there was a car coming.

Gregory counted each house as they passed it, walking across the lawn of the fourth one and knocking on the door three times. The blond hid behind his mother when a brown-haired woman answered the door. "_Allo_?" She looked puzzled until she glanced down and caught sight of Gregory, recognition crossing her face. Gregory's mother smiled and spoke in choppy French, and it felt like eternity that she finally got her question through. Christophe's mother furrowed her brows as if deep in thought, then shrugged and turned toward the stairs. "Christophe!"

A small boy appeared at the top of the stairs, looking sheepish and lingering there. Gregory waved up at him and Christophe's face brightened upon noticing him. His mother signalled him down and the boy took the steps much more slowly than Gregory had done to his. He stopped next to his mother and looked up at her, awaiting instruction. She leaned down and spoke quietly to him, resting her hand on his shoulder and squeezing it. Christophe nodded after she finished and kissed her cheek. She stood back up and spoke slowly to Gregory's mother for an eternity before smiling and waving goodbye.

Gregory grabbed Christophe's hand as they walked back to his house, chattering excitedly about what they could play. Christophe kept his eyes on the ground, looking up every now and then to let the bond know he was listening, even if he didn't understand.

"You're going to give him a headache, Gregory. Take it easy." His mother chuckled and let them in the front door. "I'll make lunch. Why don't you take Christophe up to your room and play?"

Gregory nodded and tugged the French boy up the stairs and racing him to his room. "Here's my room. It's painted blue because that _used_ to be my favorite color. Mum says I can paint it whatever color I want when I'm older. Whenever that'll be." He lead Christophe to his bed and had him sit, plopping down next to him. He smiled and patted the brunet's shoulder where his mother had squeezed it. Christophe glanced at his hand wearily and stood, walking around the room and inspecting all the toys. He picked up a stuffed elephant that looked well-worn and glanced back at Gregory, who explained: "That's General Thorne, commander of the troops."

The brunet raised an eyebrow before setting the animal back down. He looked to the ceiling as if trying to remember something, then asked. "What ees...ze troops?"

"What _are _the troops," Gregory corrected quietly. Then he brightened and slid off his bed, digging underneath it and pulling out a bin of smaller toy animals. "_These_ are the troops." Christophe's mouth opened in awe and he came and kneeled down next to the blond. Gregory rummaged through the bin and took out some of his favorites, naming each one and handing them to Christophe. "This is John Erickson, this is Eric Johnson, here's Medic - he doesn't have a name, everyone just calls him Medic because he heals people."

Medic was an old giraffe with a paper clip bent to look like a stethoscope around his neck. Christophe put the other toys down when he received the giraffe, inspecting the worn toy thoroughly. Gregory watched him.

"He's also a government spy. He goes in with the other troops to make sure they don't get hurt while on missions." He pursed his lips, thinking. "Do you like him?"

Christophe snapped his head up, furrowing his brow.

Gregory repeated the question, unsure of how to get Christophe to understand. "I asked if you liked him. Medic." After another long pause Gregory grabbed Christophe's wrist, the one holding the old toy, and pushed it gently against the brunet's chest. "You can have him." He laughed at the surprised look on Christophe's face. "But you hafta make sure he comes over and heals the troops when they get injured. Okay?"

Christophe looked down at the toy, then up at Gregory's smiling face. Then he shoved the Brit and ran out of the room, leaving Medic behind.

The blond sat there for a few minutes, trying to get his breath back and to understand what just happened. "Christophe!" he finally called, scrambling to stand and scooping up the giraffe, running out into the hallway. He heard the bathroom door slam and knew it had to have been the other boy. He rushed over and put his ear to the door. "Christophe, what's wrong? Have I upset you somehow?"

"Gregory, what's going on up there?" His mother's head appeared at the top of the stairs.

"Nothing, Mum. We're playing a game," he lied. He didn't want her to get involved. He felt that somehow that would just make things worse for Christophe. "We're playing troops."

She sighed and shook her head. "Alright, but keep it down. And lunch is almost ready, come down now."

"Okay, I'll tell Christophe." She disappeared back down the stairs and Gregory waited a while before knocking gently on the door. "Christophe, come out of there." He tried the handle and was surprised to find it unlocked. He opened the door slightly and peeked inside before entering the room fully. "Christophe."

He found the boy sitting in the tub, hugging his knees to his chest. He scowled when he saw Gregory, and the blond took a step back.

"It's time to come down for lunch. Don't you want to eat?" Gregory gathered his courage and slowly approached the boy, sitting on the edge of the tub and staring down at him. He noticed wet lines down Christophe's face, and wondered why he'd been crying. "Are you upset because you don't like Medic?" He held up the giraffe and Christophe growled, slapping it out of his hand. "Hey! No hitting!"

The brunet flinched away from him, closing his eyes tight and holding up his arms. Gregory frowned and cocked his head.

"_Now_ what are you doing? I'm not going to hit you, for goodness' sake!" He reached out a hand and gently grabbed Christophe's wrists, making him put his arms down. Christophe opened his eyes and stared down at the bottom of the tub, looking more miserable than Gregory had ever seen anyone look. "What's wrong?" he whispered desperately, climbing into the tub and squishing in next to his friend. He stroked the dark hair a few times, remembering how his mother did that when _he_ was upset. "Tell me."

The French boy took a deep breath and shook his head, instead turning toward the blond and tightly wrapping his arms around him. Gregory's eyebrows raised in confusion and worry before he hugged back, trailing his fingers up and down Christophe's back.

After a while Mrs. Thorne's voice called from down the hallway. "Boys, come down for lunch!"

Gregory pulled slightly away from the brunet and met his eyes before answering, "Coming, Mum." He stood and got out of the tub, grabbing Christophe's hand with one hand and Medic with the other and leading them out of the bathroom. As they were walking down the stairs, he felt the giraffe being pulled out of his hand while Christophe squeezed the other. Gregory smiled.

They had grilled cheese for lunch, and Gregory's mother made another one for Christophe when she saw how fast he'd eaten his first one. After that, they'd gone back upstairs, and Gregory gave Christophe the cookie he had saved for him. "I got it from school," he said proudly, then taught Christophe the Colors of the Rainbow song. The French boy got the lyrics down very quickly and sung along with the blond, smiling and laughing each time they finished it. It was like the moment in the bathroom hadn't happened, and Gregory wasn't sure if that was good or bad, but at least now Christophe was smiling.

He taught him the Alphabet song after that, this one taking much longer for Christophe to learn. He kept messing up on W, but that letter had been hard for Gregory to learn as well, so it wasn't a big deal. He showed Christophe how he had written his name, and the gold star that he had received for his work. He wished he could teach Christophe how to write _his_ name, but he had no idea how to even spell it. So he just had Christophe write 'Gregory' over and over on a piece of paper, and drew a yellow star on it when he finished. Christophe looked pleased with himself.

After a while, Gregory's mother came up the stairs and said it was time to walk Christophe home. The two boys groaned and Gregory begged his mother to let him stay longer.

"Sorry, dear, but his mother seemed very strict that he be home by six. I'm sure you two can play again tomorrow." Gregory sighed and collected Christophe's things for him. The brunet shook his head, looking worried. He grabbed Medic and the paper out of Gregory's hands and set them on his desk.

"Stay," he pleaded, and Gregory understood but didn't understand.

"You don't want to take your things home? Why not?" He turned to his mother. "Ask him why he doesn't want to take his things home."

Gregory's mother sighed and glanced down at her watch. She spoke French softly and slowly to Christophe, who turned red and muttered an answer back to her, looking at the floor. "He just wants them to stay here, Gregory. Now let's go."

They shuffled along slowly behind Mrs. Thorne as they walked the short distance back to Christophe's house. The brunet seemed to have returned to his quiet self, not even smiling when Gregory sang the Rainbow song.

Christophe's mother received him with a nod and a small, fake smile to Gregory's mother. Then she closed the door without so much as a goodbye and a short while later the livingroom lights went off, leaving them in the dark.

"Strange," Mrs. Thorne commented, staring at the door that had just closed for a short moment before grabbing Gregory's hand and leading him back home. Gregory contemplated telling her what had happened in the bathroom earlier that day, how Christophe had shrunk away from him, expecting to be hit. It gave the blond a bad feeling in his stomach, but he wasn't sure telling his mother would help. So he remained quiet and went up to his room to get ready for a bath, wanting to wash all the bad feelings away.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks for all the reviews and stuff, guys! Kittens and non-aggressive dogs for all!**

Gregory's first week of school went well. He learned how to write the whole alphabet, and started learning the sounds of the letters, which he taught Christophe when they met after Gregory got home. The blond was starting to think that the French boy didn't go to school at all. Wouldn't he have been learning these things, too? But Christophe was always surprised at the information brought home, like he'd never heard of letters making sounds before.

It wasn't until a week later that he found out Christophe was being "home-schooled", as discovered by Gregory's mother, who had started inviting the French boy's mother over. She claimed that since their sons didn't seem like they were ever going to separate anytime soon, they might as well get to know the other parent. Gregory's father was still on his business trip, and would be staying there later than expected due to a sudden problem at the company. Christophe's father was somewhere in France; he'd been chased away by Mrs. DeLorne when Christophe was three, the Thorne's discovered.

Gregory's mother explained the concept of home-schooling to him one night at dinner, saying that Mrs. DeLorne chose to keep Christophe home and teach him herself. "She doesn't like the idea of him being away from her for too long, it seems."

"But then why isn't he learning anything?" Gregory asked, furrowing his brow. "I can already count to twenty, and he's still stuck at seven!"

"Everyone teaches and learns differently, Gregory. It's her choice to keep him home, and it's none of our business what she does or does not teach him." But Gregory could tell it bugged his mother that Christophe wasn't going to school, where he would have the chance to learn English and other skills he would desperately need in the future. Which is probably why she encouraged their friendship, seeing the benefit it was having on both boys.

A month passed, and Gregory's dad announced over the telephone that he'd finally be coming back home. The blond could barely contain his excitement, and chattered about it to anyone who was willing (or not) to listen at school. He had been "shh'd" three times by the teacher, who gave up by the end of the day and listened for fifteen minutes as Gregory explained why his dad was "the coolest dad in the world".

He talked about his father to Christophe when he got home, and the brunet, who was rapidly learning more and more English, asked him what it was like to have a dad, picking grass out of their perfectly manicured lawn and shoving it into a hole that had mysteriously appeared on Medic.

"It's...nice," Gregory said carefully, taking notice of how the corners of Christophe's mouth had suddenly turned down. "He likes to spend time with me. I help him wash the car sometimes, and then we go out for ice cream."

"What's zat?" Christophe dropped the wad of grass he'd collected and looked into Gregory's eyes. The blond's mouth fell agape.

"You don't know what _ice cream_ is?" Christophe scowled and his face turned red in embarrassment and anger.

"No, I do _not_."

Gregory patted his friend's back. "It's okay. I'm sorry. I'll go get you some." He smiled and ruffled Christophe's hair affectionately. "Wait here." He rushed inside the house and came out a few moments later with a bowl of vanilla ice cream. "_This_ is ice cream." He gave the bowl and a spoon to Christophe, who took it suspiciously. "Go on."

The French boy sighed and took a small spoonful. He made a face and pushed the bowl away, glaring at Gregory. "Eet's too...eet's, I don't know 'ow to say. But I don't like eet!"

Gregory frowned, his eyebrows raised high. "You don't?" He looked down at the bowl of dessert and huffed. "I wonder why? Tell me, are you lactose intolerant?" There was a kid in his class who was lactose intolerant and couldn't have any dairy products, which included ice cream.

"I don't know what zat ees."

"No, you're not because I've seen you drink milk." He remembered a time when he had eaten too much candy and had gotten sick, swearing off the stuff until the next week when he felt better. "Maybe it's too sweet for you."

"Too sweet?"

"Yeah, like candy. Sugar."

Christophe shrugged and went back to picking grass. "I suppose so."

"Well, that's a real shame because some of the best things in life are sweet."

"Like my mozer..." There was a long pause before the two burst out laughing. They both knew Mrs. DeLorne was anything but sweet - the polar opposite actually. She was sour, like a lemon.

xxx

It was a Saturday when Gregory and his mother went to pick up Mr. Thorne from the airport. While Gregory was excited to finally see his father after so long, he felt guilty leaving Christophe behind with his mother. He was recently sporting a new bruise on his left arm that looked too much like a woman's fingers to be anything but, and when Gregory asked about it, Christophe grew grumpy and refused to speak until the subject was changed.

"Where is he?" Gregory asked, walking through a throng of people as they entered the terminal. He clutched onto his mother's dress so he wouldn't get lost.

"I don't- there he is!" She scooped up Gregory and pushed her way through the crowd, smiling and meeting with her husband. "Hello, dear."

"There's my family!" Mr. Thorne said dramatically, enveloping them in a tight hug. He looked tired, Gregory noticed.

"How was your flight?" he asked, pulling off his father's glasses and putting them on himself. The world looked blurry and it made Gregory uncomfortable. He pushed them back onto his father's head, poking the man in the eye in the process.

Mr. Thorne set down his son and rubbed his eye. "Well, I could see out of both eyes on the plane, so it was wonderful." He smiled. "How've you been, Gregory?"

The blond told him all about school and what he was learning as they drove back home, singing all the songs he knew and counting as high as he could, earning applause and high praise from both parents.

He felt guilty for some reason, getting so much support and love from his parents while Christophe tried desperately to please his mother, earning only contempt in return.

As they neared their neighborhood, Gregory grew quiet. His parents didn't notice, catching up on what had been going on while they were apart, leaving Gregory to mull over how unfair life seemed to be.

He smiled as they pulled into their driveway and noticed that Christophe was sitting on the curb. "Is that the boy you kept telling me about?" Mr. Thorne asked.

"Yeah, you should meet him!" Gregory unbuckled his seat belt and pushed open the door, running back across the lawn and tackling Christophe in a hug.

"What ees wrong with you?" Christophe shouted from the ground, trying to look angry at the blond but failing. Gregory rolled off him and helped him up.

"Come meet my father." My brunet immediately became shy, taking a step away from the Brit. He became reserved again like he was when anyone other than the blond was present.

Gregory smiled reassuringly at him before grabbing his hand and leading him toward the car. Mr. Thorne grinned and held out his hand. Small fingers shakily found their way into his palm and they shook hands. "Nice to meet you, Christophe."

The French boy nodded and let his hand fall back down, turning his head away. Gregory patted Christophe's shoulder and look at his parents. "We're going to play up in my room, now."

He grabbed the brunet's hand and pulled him along, racing him up the stairs and losing only because Christophe cheated and is a "meany-face". The other boy seemed more chipper in his victory, and they set to work playing with the "troops".

Gregory had General Thorne order everyone on a top-secret mission to retrieve he body of a fallen comrade (an old G.I. Joe doll that had accidentally been put through a washing in the dishwasher) and Christophe went along as Medic, who also happened to be the one who was to directly save Joe. Following the orders from General Thorne via walkie-talkie, the dangerous mission was completed victoriously, with only a few casualties.

Both boys seemed rather proud at their work, and were made even more excitable when Gregory mentioned that they should "play for real".

"We can ask my father to give us a real mission; let's go!" They scrambled down the stairs, Christophe leaping over the last four and landing in a crouch looking dazed. Gregory laughed and tugged him up, running into the livingroom and diving onto his dad's lap. The older male groaned in pain and smiled through it, putting down the newspaper he'd been reading.

"Why hello, son. Let's be careful when we jump onto others, okay?"

"Sure. Dad, we need a mission!" Gregory motioned over to Christophe, who was standing in the doorway. "Something dangerous."

Mr. Thorne grinned. "Hmm. Help your mother cook. Now _that's_ scary." Gregory rolled his eyes.

"Something real!"

"Alright, alright. I've got one. But I must warn you: This is possibly the most dangerous mission I'll ever ask of you."

Gregory's eyes widened and Christophe stepped further into the room in interest. "What is it, Dad?!"

"I need you to pick up something from the store. _All by yourselves_. Can you do that?"

Both boys gasped. "By ourselves? Like, crossing the street alone?"

"Yes. This is a very serious mission, boys. Gather round and I'll give you the details."

Christophe scurried to the couch and sat on the other side of Mr. Thorne as he drew them a map to the store five blocks away. After telling them how to cross the street safely and making them promise to be careful, he handed Christophe a five dollar bill and Gregory a slip of paper that read "milk", and thus sent them off on their first official mission.

They burst out the front door like wild dogs let off the leash and ran down the sidewalk passed Christophe's house, stopping at a corner to consult the map. "How many blocks left, Christophe?"

The French boy counted the little squares Mr Thorne had drawn, ignoring their neighborhood since they were already passed it. "Four, General Zorne."

"Excellent. Now it is time for our first dangerous task: Crossing the street." Gregory grabbed Christophe's hand and looked both ways like his father had said to do. The brunet huffed in impatience after twenty seconds of standing with no cars coming either way. He stepped out into the street and tugged the now fear-stricken Gregory with him. The blond's eyes continued to dart back and forth, making sure the road stayed clear.

He let out loud sigh of relief once they touched the sidewalk again. Christophe scoffed an rolled his eyes, dropping Gregory's hand and walking ahead. The blond scurried to catch up with him. "Do you still have the money?"

"Uh-huh."

"Good. I still have the list. Do you know what it says?" He pushed the paper in Christophe's face and the boy waved it away.

"Eet says milk."

"Yep. Milk. M. I. L. K. Milk." He began to sing one of the songs he'd been learning in school about grocery items when Christophe suddenly put a hand over his mouth, hissing a "Shh!" H pointed up ahead where there were a group of older boys, probably fith or sixth graders.

"Danger," he whispered. Gregory pried his hand off his mouth and nodded, furrowing his eyebrows.

"We have to sneak past them," he said in Christophe's ear. "But how?"

The shorter boy glanced around the street, nudging Gregory and pointing to an open gate leading into someone's yard. "Zere."

The blond nodded and the two snuck through the gate, crouching low and army crawling through the front yard and into the back yard. "Good idea, Christophe. We're clear now."

Suddenly there was a loud bark and a yell from Christophe. Gregory turned toward his companion in worry and gasped when he saw a flash of fur, sharp yellow teeth, and bright red blood. Instinct made him back up, common sense making him grab the collar of Christophe's well-worn shirt and tug him back harshly.

The Doberman was on a chain, keeping the snapping beast just inches away from Christophe. The brunet was clutching his arm, staring at the dog in shock and fear. The back door swung open and an old man with stringy hair stomped out, locking his sights on the two trespassing boys.

"Run!" Gregory shook himself from his fear and grabbed Christophe's uninjured hand, pulling him back across the front yard and threw the gate, running as fast as he could. He barely glanced at all before crossing the street, almost getting himself and Christophe hit by an oncoming car, before running and knocking furiously on the DeLorne's front door.

Mrs. DeLorne opened the door with a curious face - she almost never got visitors - before looking down and taking in the situation. "Christophe!" she exclaimed, sound half-worried and half-reprimanding. She opened the door wider and tugged him inside, yelling French words that sounded concerned and angry at the same time. Gregory followed them inside, up the stairs to the bathroom as Mrs. DeLorne raged on and Christophe cried.

She washed his arm in the sink, rubbing her hand gently over the bite, not saying a word but 'tsk'ing whenever Christophe whimpered. After making sure the wound was clean and dry, she rubbed an ointment over it and wrapped it in gauze. He sighed in relief and wrapped his arms around her stomach, murmuring French until she pried him off of her and spoke harshly to him. Gregory figured she was asking what had happened, and Christophe bowed his head as he replied.

Gregory interrupted with his own story, knowing that Mrs. DeLorne wouldn't understand but hoping she would think it was mostly his fault. He didn't want Christophe to get in trouble.

She stared at him as if she had just noticed he was there. There was a long pause before she sighed and muttered tiredly. Christophe's mother stood and escorted the boys out of the bathroom, leading them downstairs and motioning for Gregory to go home. The blond slumped in defeat and guilt, giving Christophe an apologetic look before the door was shut.

Christophe would be afraid of dogs for the rest of his life.


	4. Chapter 4

**So I think I'll be updating about every Wednesday. About. I don't know, it could also be on Tuesday or Thursday. Or I might just turn around and BAM UPDATE ON A FRIDAY BETCHA DIDN'T EXCPECT THAT DID YOU, TOMMY GIRL?! Well, anyway, thanks for reading, reviewing, favoriting, skimming through, etc this story because it means a lot. :D**

****Gregory didn't tell his parents about the incident with the dog. When his father asked why he hadn't gotten the milk, and why Christophe wasn't with him, Gregory said that Christophe had tripped and had decided to go home. It was the first lie Gregory had ever told his parents, and it would also be the first of many he'd keep from them. He didn't like the feeling it gave him, being untruthful. It made his stomach twist and put a throbbing in his head.

He retreated to him room immediately after dinner, claiming he wanted to practice his letters. Another lie - he just wanted to lie down and think. He flopped down on his bed and gathered all his stuffed animals around him, burying his face into General Thorne and staying that way until his mother came to kiss him goodnight.

He remained awake under the covers, wondering what Christophe was doing. Sleeping, most likely. He hoped the incident today didn't make the French boy hate their troop game. It _was_ still fun, Gregory thought glumly. It quenched the thirst for adventure he'd barely discovered he had. Now that he'd seen for himself what it was like to go out on his own, to be in charge of himself for once, he didn't want to stop. He just hoped the same was true for his friend.

xxx

The following week was boring. Christophe was apparently grounded for some reason Gregory didn't understand, so everyday after school he'd be left to his own devices. He mostly moped around he house, drove his mother insane asking "why" after everything she said, and drew pictures that he smeared over with black crayon.

It felt like an eternity later that the blond finally came home to see the French boy sitting on the front lawn, stroking the neighbor cat absently until he saw the blond approaching. Gregory burst out of the vehicle as soon as it had stopped and rushed to hug his friend, explaining how horrible it had been without him. He asked about Christophe's arm and got a shrug in reply. They went up to Gregory's room and colored for a while, the blond glancing at the stuffed animals out of the corner of his eye every now and then.

Christophe caught on to what Gregory was doing and chuckled softly, putting down his green crayon and grabbing Medic from the bed. The Brit grinned in response and tossed the crayons and paper aside, making room for the remaining soldiers. He lined them up by height and sorted them into groups, explaining what each's mission would be. He saved the best job for Medic, naturally, and Christophe set off immediately into battle.

He fought a government agency (Gregory's toy chest) that was holding civilians captive. Christophe and Gregory pried open the blond's toy box, using the other soldiers to keep it open while they freed the toys inside. "Alright, move out, move out! It's going to close!" Gregory pulled the last toy free and the toy box slammed shut, earning a gasp from Christophe.

"Medic!" Both boys stared in horror as they realized that the giraffe's head was still inside the chest. Christophe tugged its tail, struggling to release the animal.

"He's done for!" Gregory shouted, clearing the rest of the troops away and walking General Thorne to the toy box. "I'll tell your wife you loved her."

Christophe made a face and laughed, stopping Medic's struggle and sighing. Suddenly he cupped his hands together and held them up to his mouth, making a noise that terrified Gregory for a moment.

"What in the world was that?!" he asked once Christophe had stopped.

"Eet was ze sound of a dying giraffe." He shrugged and put his hands in his lap. Gregory furrowed his brow.

"How do _you_ know that's what sound they make?"

"I don't know."

"Oh." Gregory scratched his head. "Well, then I suppose we should have a proper burial. I know how to give one. We had to bury my hamster one time because I let it out of the cage and my mum accidentally sucked it up in the vacuum." He opened the toy box and gingerly took Medic into his arms. "We have to go outside and dig a hole. Come on."

He lead Christophe downstairs and out to the backyard, sitting down next to his mother's garden. He laid he giraffe down near some flowers and handed Christophe a spade.

"The hole has to be at least six times bigger than the body. So dig deep."

Christophe glanced momentarily at the tool in his hands before plunging the blade into the ground, smiling as he shoveled out a huge load of dirt. Gregory grinned at his progress and watched him lazily. It was only a few moments later that the hole was deep enough for Medic, and Gregory lowered him inside.

"Wow, this hole's deep!" He peered to the bottom where the old giraffe lay and giggled. "Time to bury him. Would you like to say a few words?"

Christophe nodded solemnly and put the spade down, sitting straight and speaking softly in French. Gregory closed his eyes and bowed his head respectfully. He gave his own eulogy when he heard Christophe shoveling dirt back into the hole, and then the boys stood and went back inside, only to come out ten minutes later and dig the old animal back up.

"I forgot that he has he power to come back to life," Gregory reasoned, watching Christophe brush off the dirt. "Silly me."

They continued playing Troops with the animals for months, still not daring enough to go on a real mission again. Christophe's wound healed alright, though it left a small pink scar, serving as a reminder of what had gone wrong during their first mission. The brunet seemed to have no interest in playing the game again. Gregory hinted at it a couple times, but Christophe would pretend he hadn't heard or didn't understand the question, which Gregory thought was stupid because Christophe was almost fully fluent in English now. The Brit always gave up in case it still bothered the shorter boy, but he was beginning to grow bored with just the animals.

So they sat in the garden, Gregory giving toys orders and Christophe digging holes for the fatally wounded. He seemed to enjoy digging the most, and several times the blond had to tear him away from it. "You're digging more holes than we have dead men!" But there was something relaxing in watching the French boy dig. He had a rhythm to it, and Gregory often fell asleep watching him.

As winter approached and the ground started to frost over, Christophe finally started showing an interest in going on a "real mission" again. Gregory rolled his eyes in relief, and they planned to walk to a place called Stark's pond, where you could walk on the frozen water. The boys had scoffed when Gregory's mother had told them about it, but she insisted it was true and drew them a map.

Gregory held the map while Christophe watched for any sign of danger. They had seen a group of older kids near Christophe's house, but snuck by them with no complications. They got lost twice and had to ask an adult to point them in the right direction, much to Christophe's annoyance. But finally they arrived at the pond, which was deserted. Gregory pulled his coat tighter around himself and stepped closer to the water.

"It's frozen, alright." He tapped the ice with his foot and shivered. "I dare you to stand on it."

"Alright." Christophe hesitated slightly before stepping onto the frozen water. He stomped lightly and grinned. "I'm standing on water!" He moved further away from the land and got enough courage to slide around on his shoes. "Come on, Gregory."

"I'm not sure. What if it's not safe?" The blond looked suspiciously at the ice, putting more weight on the foot resting on it.

"Eef eet wasn't safe, your mozer wouldn't 'ave let us come." Christophe slid over to him and grabbed his wrist. "Now let's go."

The Brit put up a struggle and gasped in fear as he was pulled all the way onto the ice. He gripped onto Christophe as tightly as possible, earning a laugh from the brunet. "It's _not_ funny, Christophe. What if the ice breaks and we fall in?"

Christophe stopped in the middle of the pond and shrugged. "I don't zink eet will break." He stomped on the ice, eliciting a shriek from Gregory. "See? You worry too much."

"I have good reason to," the blond retorted. He let go of Christophe, though, and tested out his balance. He took a step forward, then another and another before letting himself slide on the ice, laughing. Christophe joined him, taking running starts before jumping and landing not so gracefully onto the ice. The last time he tried it the ice cracked a little, so the two scurried off the ice and hit the ground laughing.

After calming down, Gregory brushed off the snow that had accumulated on his coat and leaned on Christophe's shoulder. "It's nice out here."

Christophe nodded, growing silent. He kicked at some of the snow and stretched. "Eet would be a good place to run away to." Gregory froze, eyeing Christophe suspiciously.

"What do you mean, run away? You don't mean that." He crossed his arms, angry that Christophe would even bring up such a thing.

The brunet shrugged. "I'm not saying I will. All I said ees zat eet _would_ be a nice place."

"Well...you're not going to, right?" Gregory huffed. "What would I do without you? You're my only friend, Christophe, and friends don't just run away and leave the other one stranded!" He thought about a word he had learned recently in school. "That's very selfish."

"I said I wasn't, alright?" Christophe furrowed his brow and took a step away from the blond. "Eet was just a comment." He kicked angrily at the snow and turned away.

Gregory's expression softened. "...Alright. But...you've thought about it?"

There was a long pause and Christophe sighed. "Yes. I 'ave. Eet should be obvious _why_. I don't want to live with 'er forever, Gregory." He turned back toward the blond and Gregory reached out a hand, placing it on his shoulder. Christophe leaned close and whispered in the blonde's ear, as if someone might be listening, "I don't zink she loves me."

Gregory's heart dropped at the words. He felt tears prickling at his eyes and stuttered, "O-of course she does, she's your mum. Just because she doesn't _act_ like it-"

"Non, she told me," Christophe interrupted, not looking the least bit upset. He seemed so much older suddenly, in Gregory's eyes. The look in his eyes and the stoic expression made him seem a thousand years older, like he had lived for decades and had experienced the world for a century instead of just five years. "She said zat I shouldn't 'ave ever been born. She tried to get rid of me, when I was still in 'er stomach, but she couldn't finish."

Gregory felt a tear slide down his face, not understanding anything Christophe was saying, but understanding everything at the same time. Christophe frowned, giving Gregory an annoyed look, and the blond quickly wiped the wetness away.

"I zink she should 'ave finished," the French boy muttered, and Gregory had slapped him before he had even fully processed the sentence.

"Don't talk like that!" he shouted, shoving Christophe to the ground. "You have just enough purpose to be alive as I do! Just because your mum- just because she-" He wiped tears from his face and immediately felt bad, looking down at Christophe's blank stare. He knelt down and hugged him tightly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hit you." Christophe shook his head and curled his arms around Gregory's back.

"Eet's okay," he muttered.

"No, it's not. You know it isn't." Gregory took a deep breath and wiped his face on Christophe's jacket, wetting the thin material. "Just..._please_ don't talk like that."

"But eet's 'ard." Christophe ran his fingers through Gregory's hair absently, not knowing what else to say. "I can't help eet." The blond pulled back and kissed Christophe's cheek, slightly pink from the slap.

"Well, you should try." Gregory took another shaky breath. "It's not going to help, and you have me. One day we can leave and travel around the world and go on real missions, but we can't go yet. Just hold on for a little while longer, okay?"

Christophe sighed in defeat and nodded, smiling grimly. "Okay. Eef we make ee zat long."

"What do you mean _if_ we make it that long?! Of course we will! If I can lead us through all those troop missions, I can get us through an angry mother. Don't you trust me?"

Christophe rolled his eyes, smiling. "Of course I do. Idiot."

He wiped at his cheek where Gregory had kissed him.

"Even zough you are an ugly crier."

**xxx**

** Like you're any better, Christophe.**

** Thanks for all the reviews and favs and follows and for even **_**reading**_** this! :D It tugs at my heartstrings. Which I learned are in fact real. And can break when someone's depressed because the heart just can't take the pain anymore. THE MORE YOU KNOW.**


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